Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (23 page)

In this reality, she backed out of the space with smooth efficiency, and in minutes they were on the interstate. Curt glanced at his watch, then pulled out the prepaid cell phone and called Aurora, who should be midway through lunch recess. After she answered, he asked, “Did you get the warrant to trace the money in Garrett’s account?”

Mara stiffened beside him, but she’d known about this warrant. “Yes. The money was easy to trace—no laundering even attempted.”

“Where did the money originate?”

“Dear old Uncle Andrew.”

Curt closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
She’d been shocked. She hadn’t known about the money.
He repeated these phrases over and over again, hating how much he wanted to believe them. He’d never wanted to believe in anyone before. In his world, everyone was a potential suspect and individuals were ruled out based on evidence. He’d never cared which way the evidence cut, so long as it led to someone he could prosecute.

But today, right now, he didn’t want to believe the woman he was risking everything to protect—even his role as lead prosecutor in her uncle’s trial—had taken a payoff from his defendant.

He had to look at all the facts, no matter how distasteful. What did she have besides a few dots on her belly to back up her smallpox-bomb story?

“There’s more,” Aurora said. “Some of the money left her account before we could put a freeze on it.”

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand went to Jeannie Fuller’s account.”

Cold gripped him in the gut. “She’s been with me and hasn’t had access to her account at all.” Had she? He’d showered on the boat and again in the motel. She could have completed a transfer using the cell phone.

“You know how easy it is to set transfers up ahead of time.”

“Three months ahead of time?” he asked.

“What’s going on?” Mara asked. Her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel again.

He shook his head and shifted in his seat. Into the phone, he said, “Forward the information to the Arizona FBI, all of it.”

“Already done.” Aurora paused. “Curt, as your co-counsel, I need to know something before we put Garrett on the stand. Are you involved with her?”

He closed his eyes. He’d known she’d ask this. “No.” A kiss wasn’t a relationship.

“Don’t split hairs with me. We don’t need a Clinton-like denial to bite us in the ass.”

He ground a palm into his forehead, hating everything about this conversation. He’d like to keep something private, hold precious one morsel of the elation he’d experienced when his control had vaporized, replaced with the need to taste her, touch her, and brand himself with her energy. “When she takes the stand, you’ll question her, not me.”

Aurora sighed. “Be careful. She could be trying to help her uncle by getting you disbarred. Half a million bucks for your disbarment is a small price to pay for a wealthy man facing prison.”

He’d only be disbarred if he slept with her. Extenuating circumstances made the kiss explicable, even excusable. But still, he felt like a nineteen-year-old boy with his hands in the pants of a seventeen-year-old piece of jailbait. On the surface, harmless and consensual, but legally, a big fucking mistake.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

A
HUNDRED MILES
outside Tucson, they stopped at a discount department store for snacks, clothing, a car cell phone charger, and more minutes for the phone. In and out of the store in record time, Mara had purchased comfy yoga pants and T-shirts for the drive—the sum total of her belongings since the jet had taken off with her duffle bag inside.

She’d fared better than Curt, though; his laptop and case files would reach DC long before he would. He spent hours on the phone, consulting with his co-counsel when she was on break from jury selection, and the rest of the time, it sounded like he spoke to another assistant US attorney who was managing the office in his absence.

If the one-sided conversation she heard was any indication, the man had a stunning workload. How on earth had he found the time to build a case against her uncle?

Driving felt futile, each mile only a tiny step closer to their eventual goal. Curt needed to get to the trial, and she… What was she heading towards?

She was supposed to testify and have a conversation with a few of the president’s top security people. But then what? Would she be set adrift, or would she be protected?

Why was Evan hunting her? Was it possible that he was—as he’d always claimed—devastated by her accusations and rejection and had gone off the deep end? Was there any merit to the jilted-lover scenario?

She’d always known his feelings had been real. She’d never have fallen for him if there hadn’t been genuine emotion—a true relationship—between them. But she’d been disgusted by the catalyst for that relationship—the urging of his father to seduce her—and appalled by the payoffs he’d gladly taken for succeeding.

He’d assaulted her when she’d dumped him. That alone argued for domestic violence. But Assistant US Attorney Palazzolo hadn’t known about the smallpox bomb, and his accusations fell flat when that was taken into consideration.

Curt was silent in the passenger seat, a rare moment when he wasn’t managing someone two thousand miles away, so she asked the question that bugged her most. “What on earth would Raptor
do
with a smallpox bomb?”

“A: reverse engineer it and make more. B: use it to stir up fear. C: sell copies to the highest bidder. Or D: all of the above.”

Cold fear invaded her belly. Since it hadn’t occurred to her that the bomb could have left North Korea, the harm Raptor could do with it hadn’t penetrated. “What do you mean, stir up fear?”

“Americans will spend a lot of money on the military when they’re afraid. Between Raptor’s military training grounds and the national and international private security side of the business, they’d make a killing off a good old blame-it-on-terrorists patriotism-inducing scare.”

“How long do you think it would take to reverse engineer a smallpox bomb? They’ve had two months already.”

“I don’t know.” The side of his fist hit his knee. “And I have no clue who to trust. People could be infected already. How many days after exposure before you showed the first symptoms?”

“Eleven days.” She paused. “Isn’t there someone we can call?”

“Just saying the word smallpox on a cell phone can get the conversation flagged. Homeland Security has bots that scan the airwaves. If Raptor has hooked into their system, they could use that to get a lock on our location.”

“What about the friend you called to get us the Talon & Drake jet, Lee Scott? Isn’t he a technology security guy? Can he encrypt our calls?”

Curt’s body went rigid. “Lee?” He paused, then said, “Mara, that’s brilliant. I’ve been hoping for a lead on which Raptor facility is the most likely to have the technology to replicate the bomb. Lee can research that for us.”

She smiled, knowing in her gut they were on the right track, but all the while wondering what this meant for her uncle. Uncle Andrew wasn’t greedy. Human lives weren’t worth less than government contracts to him. No. This had to be the brainchild of Evan and his vulture of a father.

I
T TOOK
L
EE
a few hours to set up the encryption on the prepaid cell phone. The only problem was the security was only effective for calls between equally secured numbers. Meaning calls to Lee were safe, but a call to the president’s chief of staff, who utilized different security, was out.

Curt told Lee about Raptor and the smallpox bomb.

“Have you listened to the news today?” Lee asked, his voice full of alarm.

“No.”

“A congresswoman from Virginia proposed a new bill that would change the definition of the types of operations that can be conducted by private security companies. They would have the ability to act with military force but without government oversight. It may even redefine them as domestic first responders.”

“Does it stand a chance in hell?” Curt asked.

“There is support. Private military and security is a lot cheaper and everyone is looking for ways to cut the federal budget. But it’s by no means an easy sell. Unless of course, we have an act of terrorism on American soil to scare the hell out of everyone.”

Curt swore. “Lee, I want to know every piece of land that son of a bitch Robert Beck owns—not just the parcels owned by Raptor. But only search
public
databases.” He didn’t need any illegal hacking to mar this investigation. Given the nature of mercenary work and the top-secret contracts Raptor already held, it was going to be damn hard to convince a judge to give him a search warrant.

“I’ll also search under Evan Beck. Do you want a search on Andrew Stevens as well?”

Curt glanced sideways at the woman driving the car. Her faith in her uncle remained strong, which pissed him off no end. She was a smart woman, and she was being pigheaded. “No need. I have that information already. Call me if you find anything.”

B
Y TWO IN
the morning Central Time, they’d put Oklahoma City far behind them. With at least eighteen hours of driving time remaining, there was no way they’d reach the trial before jury selection and opening arguments were completed the following day.

They’d taken turns napping while the other drove, although Mara had only pretended to sleep. It was hard to let her guard down after months in captivity. But even so, she felt strangely wired, wide-awake and yet hypnotized by the monotonous flashes of reflective lane-marker bumps. The road went on forever into the darkness, yet it felt as if the inside of the SUV was all that really existed. They were the only two people in the world.

“Talk to me, Mara. I’m tired.”

She twisted in her seat and faced him. “What do you want to talk about?”

“JPAC. Deployments. Your uncle’s surprise visits to Vietnam, the Philippines, and Egypt.”

“Subtle, Dominick.”

“I’m Dominick now?”

“It’s better than calling you The Shark.”

He cut her a glance with an indignant smile. “You call me The Shark one more time and I will spank you.”

“Kinky. I’m not so much into spanking, but I suppose you could convince me.”

Curt shifted in the driver’s seat, and she hoped she’d caused a painful tightening of his slacks at the crotch. His voice came out husky. “We can negotiate that when the trial is over.”

He wanted to fool around with her after the trial? It was hard to believe they could get involved, but for the first time since this crazy journey started, she could imagine…something. “Negotiate, or plea bargain?” she asked.

He grinned. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

“Why don’t we just go tit for tat?”

“As long as you provide the ti—”

She held up a hand to stop him. He was obviously feeling plucky at this hour. “Funny, but I’m talking about now. Tell me why Palea asked questions about my mail, and I’ll tell you about my uncle and JPAC.”

“Palea found an envelope. Someone mailed something to you from South Korea the day after you were arrested.”

“What do you think it was?”

“It’s tit time. Tell me about your uncle’s visit to Vietnam.”